


What we call friendship

by BleuAzur



Category: Berserk
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And slightly before, But better be safe I guess, Canon-Typical Violence, Especially for Berserk, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Most of this is canon, Mostly Gen, Not that graphic for the violence, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, The Golden Age
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 00:32:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12222108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BleuAzur/pseuds/BleuAzur
Summary: Guts meets Griffith before he kills Gambino.





	1. Meeting

He meets the boy as he is strolling around town, avoiding coming back to camp just to receive the scorn of his adoptive father.

The boy is getting beaten up by a group of bullies. Guts has never really felt very heroic. He has never felt the need to stand up for the weak. In his world, people who are weak get killed very quickly. Such is the law of the battlefield. But here is not the battlefield. So because he is bored—yet a part of him feels the _urge_ to intervene—, he decides to interrupt this mockery of a fight.

“Hey,” he greets. The three bullies startle. They are obviously not used to people interfering.

“What do you want?”

“Seems like fun. Maybe I should join you… It’d only really be fun if the two sides are equal though, don’t you think? What do you say I help this guy instead?” He says, pointing to the teenager curled up at their feet and grinning like a predator that found a particularly stupid prey.

The leader of the bullies decides Guts doesn’t look impressive enough to be a real threat. His two croons, however, have noticed the blade on the younger boy’s back—it _is_ taller than Guts.

Although his followers are trying to get their boss’s attention on the sword, he seems too occupied by his tough-guy-act to pay them any mind. Too bad for him.

As soon as he takes a step forward, the young mercenary swings his blade down, stopping the young bully right in his tracks. The boy’s face immediately pales. His eyes switch from staring at the gleaming metal to glancing at the teenager crouching behind Guts in rapid succession. His cheeks redden in anger. However, he wouldn’t have survived in the streets for as long as he obviously must have if he didn’t have a nick of common sense. So he makes the only logical decision.

“Don’t think there’ll always be someone to save you, faggot,” he spits before motioning for his cronies to follow him. They are soon swallowed by the crowd.

Once gone, Guts can observe the guy he just helped more closely; his effeminate face—now marred by black and blue bruises—and slight figure mark him as an easy target as well as a beautiful mane of blond—almost silver—hair. When the teenager looks Guts into the eyes, the ten-year-old can’t help getting enraptured into the other’s crystal blue orbs.

“Thanks,” the blond says, reaching his hand out. “My name’s Griffith. What’s yours?”

“… Guts,” he mumbles grudgingly. What a weird guy.

“Let’s be friends!”

He stares at him and at his hand, before diving back into the sea of people.

Guts comes back to town the very next day because, although he can’t bear crowds, he hates the apathetic gaze of the one he considers his father even more.

He’s walking down through the market when an arm suddenly snags him into a dark back alley. A pale hand covers his mouth before any sound can come out. Panic overwhelms his mind. _The dark shape of hands and hungry—greedy eyes above him._ He slams his hand back—his forearm gets blocked. Guts recognises his opponent by his hair. It’s the silverhead.

As he stares, the other takes advantage of his momentaneous paralysis. The street kid tugs him deeper into the alley, before turning him around. He faces the ten-year-old with an imperious air. He stretches one thin arm out, his hand holding a gleaming red apple, his eyes shining.

“Want one?”

“…” Guts turns around, intent on leaving right away. What a weird guy.

Something brushes his arm. A shiver runs through his skin, even as he immobilises briefly. His arm whips out, pushing the thing away. It is the older’s hand.

 _“Don’t touch me_!” He hisses.

A mix of emotions flash through sky-coloured eyes when they meet his, but they disappear too quickly for the young mercenary to recognise them. “Ow,” he says. A strange, knowing, not-really-smile twists his lips. “… So you _can_ talk!”

Guts doesn’t actually have to listen to that annoying guy. Yet… Guts takes the apple. The fool must have taken that as a friendly gesture because, while telling him to come, the blond dives back into the crowded market. The young mercenary follows him anyway. They zigzag through the people. Griffith stops before a plethora of small street shops, showing Guts little, interesting—to him—, yet ultimately useless trinkets.

“Look at this!” The silver-eyed teenager grins, holding a cheap necklace—it looks like a cross with small wings on a leather lace. The ten-year-old glances at it dubiously. He does not see the appeal of the accessory; the thing would just get in the way of his sword.

“It reminds me of you!” He says cheerfully, “It’s like a big sword with little wings, you see? And since you’re like my warrior-guardian angel…”

“Your— _what_?”

“My warrior-guardian angel!” His smile is so wide and bright, Guts is almost blinded.

“…” The ten-year-old stares dubiously at the older teenager.

“Well, you know what? Even if you don’t think so, I don’t care!” He claims imperiously, “I’m going to buy it!” He empties his pockets of the few lone bronze coins he has—they are probably the only ones the blue-eyed teenager has ever owned, Guts thinks. It’s barely enough to buy the little accessory. When the transaction is over, Griffith turns around, beaming.

“Here!” He hands out the trinket.

“… What am I supposed to do with that?”

“Put it on, obviously, silly!” Guts doesn’t understand.

“I don’t need it.”

“Well, it’s a thank-you gift for the time you stopped these guys from beating me up, so you can’t refuse it,” the blond teenager says, a twinkle in his eyes. The young mercenary grumbles incoherently.

“Come on. Turn around, I’ll put it on you.”

Guts doesn’t really like the proximity of other people since— But the other is careful not to touch any of his skin and even if he did… Guts thinks maybe he wouldn’t really mind.

He feels his cheeks and his ears heat up as Griffith settles the necklace around his neck.

* * *

  _“You’re mine now.”_


	2. Departure

Guts comes back the following days and Griffith is always waiting for him nearby the place where they first met. The blond shows him every nook and cranny in the city; going from the red light district—where most of the members of his company are spending their money—to the high district—or well, as far as they can manage to go, before they’re stopped by the guards watching that nobody as dirty as they are come in contact with the inhabitants of that place.

What Griffith seems to love more than anything is going through the merchandise of the people sitting on the ground on their dirty blankets. One day, Griffith stops brutally before another wrinkled old woman. Her hands are so thin and gnarled they look like claws. This time, it is another necklace but with a weird egg-shaped, blood-coloured thing attached on the lace.

“Seems you’ve got good eyes there, brat,” the elder says, “This is called the Egg of the Conqueror or Behelit. It’s said to be a gift from the gods ‘cause it realises the wish of its wearer.”

His eyes are transfixed on the red pendant as though it is going to reveal the secrets of the world.

But Guts only watches Griffith. He begins ruffling through his pouch. He hates owing anything to anybody. Especially to fools like this one.

* * *

 

A few days after Griffith’s and Guts’ first meeting, as the young mercenary is on his way to their usual meeting spot—how weird it is to be able to call a place _usual_ —he hears a commotion down the market. City guards are gathered and a few bystanders drag their steps inconspicuously, trying to see what’s causing the ruckus. Plaintive high voices-they sound like children, yet could easily be confused with young men’s—scream their innocence. Guts knows it’s very unlikely to have any effect on hardened—and, most of all, annoyed—soldiers. Instead, he picks up his pace. It’s useless to linger on some poor, unfortunate chaps.

He thinks he sees a flash of silver, but he probably imagined it because Griffith is sitting patiently against the well. He is carefully assembling what looks like a flower crown. How girly he is.

They’re walking to the main square. Griffith is wearing his new flowery construction. Sobs and pleas seem the loudest among the harsh whispers and occasional jeers of the assembled crowd. In the middle of it, on the slightly raised platform where felons are exposed, humiliated and punished, stand three boys. Their wrists are encircled with metal. The executioner readies his axe and a wooden block. Judging by the size of the weapon, these teenagers have been arrested for thievery. Griffith stops to observe. Guts is surprised because the other teen is not usually one for these bloody spectacles. The ten-year-old turns his gaze on the soon to be punished. Their faces look familiar.

… Aren’t they the bullies who were tormenting Griffith the first time they met?

Guts seeks confirmation in icy eyes. Yet they are too busy taking in the sight. Enthralled.

The axe falls. Thrice. The smell of blood permeates the air as wails and sobs fill the silence.

Guts isn’t afraid of the blood. Maybe he was, the very first time, but that was so long ago, he has forgotten all about it now. No. The reason he turns his gaze away is not because he can’t bear the bloody sight. Perhaps it is intuition, perhaps it is that he is getting closer and closer to the true Griffith. He looks at the older teenager. Griffith’s eyes are set in grim satisfaction, a stark contrast to his usual gentleness. Even though he is smiling, a dark aura is emanating from him.

Guts can’t help the shudder going through his spine. Was it because of Griffith that the three…? The young mercenary chases the thought away. In the end, what does it really matter? What is done is done, and it’s not as if Guts is an innocent either. That doesn’t change the fact that Griffith is a poor fool who acts according to childish whims. And after all, children are the most cruel of beings.

* * *

 

For the first time in his short existence, Guts thinks war doesn’t last long enough. Soon, his company will be leaving for another battlefield. He doesn’t want to leave. Maybe it’s because of this particular town, or maybe it’s because of the atmosphere—he knows the true reason is named Griffith.

Guts doesn’t want to leave, but he has to.

They’re sitting by a well, their backs against the stone warmed by the afternoon sun. They have both found cloud-watching to be an incredibly enjoyable hobby.

“You know, I’ve decided I want to build my own kingdom,” the silver-haired teenager says, holding out his hand toward the sun, “I’m not sure of how as of now but, I know that I’ll probably have to marry in the royal family or get rich and get my own land then build a new kingdom. Either way, I need to be strong. But, truth is, I’m not sure I’ll be strong enough by myself.” His hand closes up in a fist. It looks to Guts as though he just caught the sun. Then the silver-haired teenager turns to look at him. “Guts, I want you by my side.” His smile is so soft and innocent-looking, the young mercenary can’t help but blush.

It’s terribly tempting but…

“… I can’t,” he ends up reluctantly answering. Even if Gambino holds nothing but contempt for him, he can’t leave the man. The other mercenaries would rather leave him to starve to death than to cater to the needs of a useless cripple, no matter how good of a leader he had ever been.

Griffith stares at him contemplatively. His lips twist lightly as though he knows something no one else is aware of.

“You will.”

* * *

 

The day before Guts has to leave, they meet up one last time near the well where they watched clouds pass by without a care in the world. They are sitting at the foot of the stone construction, each eating a small honey cake they stole from a bakery. Guts thinks it is much too sweet, but well, he can’t be too picky. Griffith is the one expert in stealing things.

“You’ll leave them someday. Come to me when you do.” It sounds like a reassurance- or a promise—but Guts can’t tell if it’s for his sake or Griffith’s.

They finish eating in silence. Though Guts ends up giving his to Griffith. Too sweet.

* * *

 

Gambino still prefers Shizu-the-dog over Guts-the-person. Guts-the-person misses Griffith-his-friend.

* * *

 

Almost one year after Guts last saw Griffith, everything goes to shit. Gambino dies by Guts’ sword and Guts is forced to flee from everything he has ever known.


	3. Interlude

His first thought is to die. Why should he cling to a life that has thrown him away? Yet he can’t manage to. His body, so used to an existence full of fighting, moves on its own in the presence of danger.

Soon he is surrounded by the corpses of wolves. He sees the stars and the moon above, shining beautifully in the darkness of the night. In fact, they shine so brightly they look like they’re mocking him and his misery.

* * *

 

Griffith told him to seek him out but Guts has no idea where to even begin. He decides that if they are meant to meet again as the other had said, then they shall. Otherwise, well… Too bad.

* * *

 

He gets captured at the issue of one among many battles. It does not surprise him. The side he chooses cannot always be the winner after all. The things he does not expect, though, are the fairy in his cell and being used as an ego powering ‘duel opponent’. The fairy is a naive little thing. Really. It is ready to offer its life to anybody who would give it the smallest amount of consideration. So fucking naive. Guts can’t help but take the flower outside with him though. Bringing it to its companions is the least he can do.

* * *

 

Every time he sees a flower, he can’t help wondering if a little fairy is desperately trying to keep it alive too.

* * *

 

Being captured once doesn’t stop him from entering yet another battlefield. Although it does mean that he is more careful when its issue draws near.

 


	4. Reunion

When he first hears of the Band of the Hawk, he does not immediately think about Griffith. After all, why would he?  
  
He almost crosses battle with them a few times; it is to be expected after all, given the nature of their profession and the number of battlefields there are.  
  
When he does, the Band’s side is losing, surprisingly enough. Guts doesn’t have the opportunity to fight any of them though.  
  
Well, he does. After the actual battle.  
  
They attack as he is leaving the castle.  
  
The bout doesn’t last long. Everyone stops as the white stallion and its rider arrive. Time itself seems brought to a halt. The man stares at the girl, then at him.  
  
“I thought I told you to come to me,” the white-clad leader says, removing his helmet. A chute of silver hair drops down. “The trouble I go through for you…” Even though he’s shaking his head, Guts can tell he’s only pretending to be irritated. His large smile gives it all away.  
  
Griffith’s face is exactly the same as back then. Only his height has changed. It does not make him look any less childish.  
  
He steps down from his horse and puts his head wear on the saddle handle before scooping Gut’s head with his arm and grinding his fist on Guts’ head.  
  
“Come on. Let’s get you some bandages. Then we’ll catch up,” Griffith tells him. The older man is still as open with his contentment as when they first met.  
  
His companions only seem distrusting, though. It doesn’t matter. This isn’t the first time Guts enters a band of mercenaries. The Band of the Hawk isn’t that different from the others after all. However skilled they may be.

* * *

 

Griffith leads him around camp. They stop more than once as the silver-haired leader is hailed every five minutes. Once they’ve gone around all the tents, Griffith leaves the inhabited area to go up a small hill. No one can approach or hear what is to be said between them without being spotted.  
  
“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” The blue-eyed mercenary wonders out loud. It is obvious the he isn’t actually waiting for an answer. “I wonder… Do you still have that necklace I bought you?”  
  
Without saying anything, Guts reaches for the slight chain around his neck. He had had to change the leather lace, worn from use, a few years previous.  
  
The silver haired man does the same, pulling out the still-as-disturbing crimson egg. He smiles as he contemplates it. “And I’ve still got yours…” He pauses. “Will you promise me?”  
  
“… Promise you what?”  
  
Griffith makes a pouting face that should look ridiculous on any grown man’s face. “Promise me you’ll stay until the end, of course!”  
  
“ … Oh.”  
  
“What do you mean, ‘oh’?”  
  
The younger mercenary does not answer. In truth, Guts hadn’t intended on staying.  After years alone on the road, he does not feel ready to just be part of such a large crowd.  
  
Griffith frowns. His usually (or well, according to his meagre memories) warm sky blue orbs turn to ice. “ …’I want you.’ Is this what you want to hear?” He closes his eyes briefly before opening them again. The ice in them has melted. Then firmly he says, “I want you, Guts.” When the black-haired teenager stays silent, Griffith traps his head between his hands and connects their foreheads together. “I want you,” he repeats softly, locking Guts’ eyes with his. For a moment, time stops. The wind has fallen and what little noise could be heard from the camp seems to have suddenly died down.  
  
Rustling.  
  
Guts hurriedly jerks his head back. He looks for the source while trying to ignore his burning face. He spots a bit of brown before it’s gone. Could it have been…? Guts dearly hopes it was only an animal.  
  
The silver-haired leader doesn’t appear to care. He’s still staring at the fifteen-year-old, obviously waiting for his answer—his promise. Guts sighs. “I… I don’t think it’s a good idea. For me to … to stay with you guys for … for a long time.” He finishes lamely. _I’m cursed_ , he does not say.  
  
“What should I do then? Shall we battle it out? Shall we put our lives on the line for this?” Ice blue eyes narrows at the silence. “Very well then. However, your life—and your death—will belong to me until I decide otherwise. In case I lose… We’ll see then.” He says, confidently. He draws a fine blade out of its sheath, readying his stance. Guts barely has the time to parry Griffith’s first strike with his own sword.


	5. Promise

The fight doesn’t last long—even though it feels like forever. However good Guts has become, it seems useless compared to Griffith. Were it anyone else, maybe the younger mercenary would have fought harder. But as it is, Guts might just have found his will lacking.

* * *

 

This is his first raid with the Band of the Hawk.  
  
Surprisingly, he almost gets himself killed. What is even more surprising is the length Griffith will go to in order to save his life. Guts and Griffith have only known each other for a few weeks—five years ago. Too short a time, too long ago, for such a strong bond.  
  
Why?  
  
Griffith skillfully dodges his question, waxing a poetic, yet inane speech. Why does he seem so reluctant to expose his reasons? Especially when he had been so stupidly honest five years ago.

* * *

 

Night is falling upon them so the mercenaries all gather around one of the fires to trade stories. The atmosphere is the thing that marks him the most. It is so lighthearted, one wouldn’t believe they put their lives on the battlefield every day. Maybe the Band of the Hawk really is different.  
  
It’s hard. They drink, they laugh, they tell stories. It’s hard because Guts can feel how different he is from them. How apart from them. Being alone in a crowd is actually worse than being on your own, he finds. Guts likes the presence of the stars and the moon better. After all, they are the only constant in his life. They can’t leave him after all. However, these guys don’t seem to understand his point of view. The biggest guy—Pappin? Pippin?—suddenly put him on his shoulder as though he were a vulgar sack of potatoes.  
  
The young mercenary kicks and punches and shouts his discontent but in vain. He is brought back in the circle around Griffith’s fire. A goblet is thrust before his face. While the giant’s face is quite scary, it isn’t what makes him take the drink; he just really doesn’t feel like putting up with these people’s antics is all.

* * *

 

He greets the rising sun from the place he ended up resting in: a small turret in the rampart. It is peaceful. The knife-wielding blond guy comes up to him.  
  
“So… How long have you known Griffith?”  
  
“I met him a couple of years ago.”  
  
“It’s strange because we’d never heard about you… I mean apart from the rumours of a small demon wielding a sword twice its size. According to what you’ve both said, Griffith asked you to join him years ago. I have to admit, that surprised all of us—our dear leader has never had to ask someone to have them begging us to be part of the Band. Not with his charisma. Yet you refused.”  
  
“Well. I had other duties,” Guts cuts off dryly. What does that guy want exactly? If he could just stop beating about the bush. At least, the blond would leave.  
  
The blond thoughtfully rubs his chin. Then adds abruptly, “Oh, yeah, I forgot that Griffith is looking for you. He told me you’d know where to find him.”  
  
“…” At first, Guts doesn’t understand. Oh. He comes down from the rampart then looks for a well. And indeed, the silver-haired leader is there. In all of his naked glory. It seems that he has only become more shameless. Not that Griffith has any reason to be shy of his body—not with these muscles… Guts blush and turns his eyes to find a childish face.  
  
“You know… Years ago, I heard that most of the band you had been with died in some meaningless battle.” Blue eyes take the shape of a crescent. “I’m glad you didn’t.” A pale hand caresses a tanned cheek. Stops. “I was afraid I’d lost you. Don’t do that again. This is an order. Don’t leave me.” Griffith keeps Guts’ gaze trapped in his own. Warm sky becomes ice. “Okay?”  
  
Guts knows the realities of war. And he doesn’t want to lie to him. Doesn’t want to keep him in this pretty bubble. But Griffith should know better. In fact, Guts knows he does. Does he think that refusing to accept he is most assuredly going to die on some battlefield, for some petty battle will somehow prevent it from happening?  
  
“Guts.” The black-haired youth looks down. The next ‘Guts’ is sterner. He meets Griffith’s gaze again.  
  
“You know I can’t promise you that. We _are_ mercenaries.”  
  
“Still.”  
  
Guts sighs. “ … Alright. I promise.”


	6. End of an Era

The next battle goes better than the last. Griffith orders him to guard the rear. Again. This time, though, Guts is accompanied by a small group of soldiers. They all look young to Guts, yet he is the youngest—being only 15. It’s the sparkle of hope and dreams that glimmers in their eyes that exclude him, he who has no dream and only one hope: surviving yet another day.

Guts buries the _feelings_ as he has been doing for the last couple of years. It is easier not to deal with such things.

The young soldiers who accompany him seem at first a bit reluctant to fight under his command—and after all, why would they give him their trust? He is only a newcomer. Someone else should have been chosen as leader. But apparently, he does a good enough job because they slowly open up. They invite him to their fire at night and start sharing stories—how Gaston left his home and a job as a way to obtain glory on the battlefield, how Dan has a girl he wants to marry, how Kane hopes he can one day have enough money to open his own shop.

Quickly, Guts’ small party of men gets bigger and bigger. Weirdly enough, they become more and more enthusiastic to join his “raid”. Commander they call him now. The ones who were there since the start, become proud of it, bragging about it and taunting the later ones. It feels weird to Guts. Never before had he been given the responsibility of so many men. Or any at all for that matter. And even weirder is the fact that his men are proud of him and their accomplishments together.

They proudly call themselves the Raiders. They brag about him, even though he’s always disobeying Griffith’s orders and leaving them behind.

The three following years go by in a blur. Every day seems like a never-ending battle, only interspaced by bouts of partying—as though it is to recover from the horrors they see during the day. And one day… One day, all that they have been fighting for comes to fruition. It is the goal Griffith has always been working towards, something their leader has not doubt been planning for years and years—but it seems like a surprise and an impossible dream come true for the others. The king has asked for their service. Guts can’t help but feel that it’s the beginning of the end.

* * *

  _They don’t know it yet, but it is._


End file.
